


Connection, in an Isolating Age

by captainraz



Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-03 16:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainraz/pseuds/captainraz
Summary: Mark rings in the new millennium the same way he has for years, but a chance meeting reminds him he's not as alone as he thinks.





	Connection, in an Isolating Age

The air held a brittle chill that could only mean January 1st in New York City. Mark pulled his scarf tighter around his neck in a futile attempt to ward off the soul-pervading cold.

“We’re living in America, at the end of the millennium,” he sang under his breath into the breath-warm and damp wool. “We’re living in America, and I’m all alone.” Sadness, worn in and familiar clung to the edges of each syllable.

“Happy New Year Roge. Welcome to the new millennium.”

Roger didn’t reply. He hadn’t said a thing in years. The stone just sat silent and still in the snow.

Mark reached out with gloved fingers to trace the letters of Roger’s name and the date he’d last spoken. February 1997. If he’d held on just a few months longer he would have seen the moment everything changed for people living with HIV and AIDS.

Roger had been exhausted towards the end, stretched far too thin from fighting the virus attacking his immune system. And from fighting the cancers and the infections that took advantage of his weakened state. He’d done well to hang on as long as he did, years after the others had already gone. Mark held his hand and told Roger it was okay to let go, that Mimi and the others were waiting for him already. Roger’s eyes slipped closed, his paper-thin eyelids grew still and the breath left his body. Mark’s last best friend left the world, and he was alone at last.

The silence of a graveyard in winter didn’t bother him. He was used to it; in his life, in his apartment, in his head. He’d chosen to be here, like he was every January 1st. He chose to come here every New Year’s Day to tell Roger what had happened in his life since they’d last spoke, and to share his hopes and dreams for the coming year.

“I miss you. You were the best friend a nerdy Jewish filmmaker could have asked for. You too Mimi.”

His gaze slipped to the headstone next to Roger’s, this one older, the dates on it even more tragically close together. “I miss you too Mimi. All of you, you were all the best friends I could have hoped for.”

“They really were, weren’t they?”

The voice came from behind him, startling Mark out of his well-worn grief. He spun around, half-expecting an attack of some sort, but instead was greeted with a familiar face.

“Maureen.”

She looked older than the last time he’d seen her, hair starting to go grey and wrinkles just forming around her eyes. But she still held herself with that old “fuck you” attitude that Mark remembered so well.

How long had it been? Two, three years? With a start Mark realised they hadn’t seen each other since Roger’s funeral. Time didn’t matter; their friendship had been forged in the hottest forge and was unbreakable.

He pulled her into a tight hug, breathing in the familiar scent of her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t come every year like you do, but it felt right this year, what with Y2K and everything. I was hoping I might bump into you.”

Mark squeezed her harder, glad for the company and touched that she’d thought of him. “How have you been?”

“Oh you know, I’ve been managing,” she said as they pulled apart. “It’s good to see you. What have you been up to?”

Making films. Telling stories. Getting the truth out there.

Making sure no one ever forgot what they had all been through in the eighties, that no one forgot what had been done to them.

He told her as much. “What about you? What have you been doing with yourself the last few years?”

“Activism mostly, though I tend to be a little more reserved about it these days. Schlock and awe just doesn’t convince people the way it used to.”

“Personally I blame reality TV,” he said, and Maureen laughed. “How’s Joanne?”

She smiled. “Good, she and her girlfriend are buying a house together. They want to think about adopting, if they can convince the state to let them. It’s still kind of a crap shoot.”

“If anyone can convince politicians and legislators to stop being dicks, it’s Joanne.” He paused, trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say. It was much simpler to say the right thing in a screenplay; conversations couldn’t be edited. “I’m glad you two have stayed in touch.”

“I’ll always love her—like I’ll always love you, Mark—but we’re definitely better off as friends. I’m actually meeting up with her at the Life Cafe after this, you wanna come with?”

Mark paused for a second. His New Year’s ritual was to come to the cemetery to pay his respects and then go back to his crappy apartment to wallow in his grief. He was used to being alone, today of all days, but company sounded perfect.

“Yeah. Yeah that would be great actually.”

“Awesome, I’ll just let her know.” Maureen pulled out her cellphone—a much smaller brick than Mark’s—and sent off a message before hooking her arm around his. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They made small talk most of the walk there, catching up on each other’s lives, asking after each other’s families.

“You know my Mom is still mad at me I didn’t marry you,” Mark said with a laugh. “No doubt she’ll want to know when we’re getting back together when I tell her.”

“Awww, she’s sweet. But if you could tell her I’m happy as I am and that no, I didn’t get over my “lesbian phase.” It’s pronounced “bisexual”.”

Mark held his hands up in surrender. “I’ve tried, but you know how my Mom is.”

“Almost as bad as mine.”

And then they were there. The Life Cafe, where so much had happened for them all. At least these days Mark didn’t have to worry so much about not being able to pay for a cup of tea; it turned out it _was_ possible to be authentic to you art and make money without selling out. Not much money, but it was possible.

Joanne stood to great them, pulling them both into a crushing hug with an enormous smile on her face. As Mark sat and picked up the menu, it occurred to him just how differently his day had gone to what he’d expected.

It was the start of the millennium, and he wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.


End file.
